A Very Good Day
by I Call Him Fred
Summary: On their first day of classes in their seventh year, James Potter and Lily Evans have a traditional duty of the Head Boy and Girl to perform. Oneshot.


James Potter, seventeen, is slumped in his chair in the first lesson of Defence Against the Dark Arts of his seventh year, already bored out of his mind and more than a little worried as he contemplates how exactly he will survive until June. Currently, the only thing that is keeping him awake is covert sideways glances at a very scrumptious-looking Lily Evans who is, naturally, busily writing notes on a roll of parchment. Her forehead crinkles, and she re-dips her quill in her ink and crosses out a word, and replaces it with a whole sentence. James leans his chin in his hand and shifts in his chair, still watching her carefully, not noticing the heat of the autumn sun on his shoulders. He's finally found a comfortable position in which he can observe Lily and still look like he's paying attention to the poor new professor (who looks barely 23 years old and obviously fresh out of teaching school and the only person to take the supposedly cursed job, who quickly settled into a routine of awful lectures) but suddenly his and Lily's names are called from the front of the classroom.

James startles, nearly falls out of his desk, and whips his eyes to the front of the room. He wonders if it's possible to get a detention for staring at a girl the whole class (even if she's a particularly beautiful girl), and thinks that if anyone were to manage it, it would be him. But it seems that he and Lily have been summoned somewhere, and no, he is not in trouble, and that he has the great fortune to be able to leave this classroom right now. He scoops all his things into his bag, waves to Sirius (who looks to be planning some awful way to torture Severus Snape), Remus (who doesn't even look up from his notes but shrugs his left shoulder in acknowledgement), and Peter (who looks to be quite envious of James's good luck), and waits for Lily at the door as she carefully rolls up her parchment and slips it into her bag. She makes her way through the maze of desks and gives him a small smile. They slip into the hallway, and James admires the spattering of freckles on her cheekbones and, since he had been too busy watching her fingers to listen to what the professor had been saying, asks,

"So, where are we going?"

She rolls her eyes, not unkindly, and tells him, "Professor Dumbledore wants to see us about some Head student duty that wasn't mentioned last night."

"Ah." He says, reflecting for a moment on how extremely strange it is that he is Head Boy, instead of someone who doesn't wreak havoc in the school, and then just tries to concentrate on walking properly so that he doesn't trip down a staircase (which he suspects wouldn't help him to make Lily fall in love with him).

Lily, who doesn't have any problems walking, continues her end of the conversation.

"I don't have any idea what it could be-- I mean, we've already talked about patrol duties, and disciplinary stuff, and planning responsibilities. What else is there?"

"Oh, er, perhaps he just wants to congratulate us again?" James says, mentally slapping himself for not saying something funnier, more amusing, more intelligent.

Lily purses her lips. "I don't know if he'd pull us out of class for that, not that I'd mind, that was a terrible lesson so far, don't you think? I doubt anyone except me or Remus was listening." She laughs. "Poor Professor Thwyckham."

"Oh, so that was his name," James says, "he'd lost me at 'hello'."

Lily rolls her eyes at him again, but is laughing as she does so. She shakes her head, grinning, and gives the gargoyle statue the password ("Jelly babies") and they step onto the spiral staircase.

Professor Dumbledore is sitting behind his desk, examining a peculiar spindly silver instrument which he sets down as they enter. He steeples his fingers and says kindly, "Take a seat, if you please. Now, you are both wondering why I have called you back here. Though," he pauses and looks at James, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles, "I doubt either of you protested overmuch at leaving Professor Thwyckham's class."

James feels his face flush slightly, and glances sideways at Lily, who is also looking slightly embarrassed. He looks back at the Headmaster and says, "No, not overmuch, sir." He hears Lily laugh half-amused, half-scandalised, under her breath, and Dumbledore smiles.

"Well, Mr. Potter, I regret to inform you that this meeting will not be a long one, but we do have an important matter to discuss. This is of course, the portrait of the Head students. One is done every year, and hung in the Fourth Floor corridor. You've seen them, I presume?"

James has seen them, and has promised himself many times never to be in a painting that grim or boring. The Fourth Floor corridor is lined by hundreds of these portraits of Head students, and they are not at all attractive and made fun of by many a bored Hogwarts student. All of the past Head Girls are portrayed as bookish, nerdy types, spotty and pale from too much time spent in the library, and the Head Boys are equally as bad: so uptight they look vaguely constipated, pimply and skinny, with great dark circles under their eyes from so much homework. They are boring paintings to talk to as well, recounting essays, homework, and school gossip from hundreds of years ago.

Dumbledore smiles again at his Head students' dismay, and tells them, "Now, this is a centuries-old tradition, and is not to be broken. The painter is coming to the school tonight as the painting needs to be completed as soon as possible. You are to meet him in the same corridor where the other portraits are hung tonight at seven, and he will then pick a classroom and do his work."

James looks at Lily, Lily looks at James, and they both look back at Dumbledore and nod resignedly.

The Headmaster stands and walks to a bookshelf behind Lily and James, pulls out a thick tome and returns to his desk. "There is no reason to worry; you'll be in good hands. Mr. Stratocast is a very qualified artist, and has been doing the portraits for many years. I trust you two to be respectful and cooperative, as he is very old and quite brilliant."

"Yes, sir," Lily says, and James echoes her with a "Yes, Professor," of his own.

Dumbledore looks up from his book with a smile and his eyes sparkle again. "That's all," he says, and as Lily and James get up to leave, he adds, "And I don't think it will be necessary for you to return to Defence Against the Dark Arts. You two can head straight down to lunch, if you wish."

When the two of them have reached the bottom of the staircase and are out of earshot of the stone gargoyles, James mutters, "Barmy old man," under his breath. Lily rolls her eyes again, adds, "But so brilliant," and tells James that she needs to run up to her dormitory before lunch quickly, and that she'll see him tonight, and would he please stop making her roll her eyes so much, she is starting to get a headache. James nods in agreement, and the moment she rounds the corner, gives a huge whoop and pumps a fist in the air. He jumps around the corridor for a bit, does a wild victory dance, and then adjusts his robes and goes down to the Great Hall for lunch.

* * *

"So. Let me get this straight," Sirius says, lying on his stomach on the Great Lawn and leaning his elbows into James's thigh. "You, one James Potter, have a date with one Lily Evans, wonder girl and supermodel extraordinaire, and are meeting her tonight at seven in a dark, deserted corridor, all the while being watched by some old codger with a paintbrush and numerous paintings of hundred-year-old nerds? Kinky. I dunno mate, she might not go for it."

"I told you," James says, trying in vain to dislodge Sirius from his lap, "it's only sitting for a portrait, and it's not a date."

"As much as you wish it could be, though!" Sirius exclaims, and rolls onto his back, laying a hand over his forehead dramatically. "You want to carry her off and ravish her behind drop cloths, make sweet, tender love to her as the sun sinks below the horizon--"

Two third year girls gather up their books from the grass nearby and scurry off, looking scandalised.

"I highly doubt," Remus says dryly, "that that would make an appropriate painting of this year's Head students."

Sirius looks a little put out for a moment, and then sits up abruptly. "Hang on-- what are you two going to do while this man paints you for endless hours?"

"Well," James says sarcastically, "I don't know. I'd rather thought we'd sit there and _get painted_..."

"No, no, no, that won't be acceptable, do you want to be remembered as an awful date?" Sirius asks, and James smacks him on the back of the head with textbook. While Sirius is pouting and rubbing his head, James tells him, rather crossly, "It is not a date. And we will talk, obviously, and it will be wonderful."

Sirius raises an eyebrow and flops back onto the grass, saying, "Don't count on it, mate."

James looks at him, and has to count backwards from ten in his head so that he doesn't beat on Sirius right there and then. A small part of his brain wonders: _what if Sirius is right and this will be the worst night of my life? What if I have nothing to say to Lily and she thinks I'm slow and boring? What if this portrait turns out a million times uglier than the others?_

"Don't worry, James," Remus says, making a small correction in his Charms homework and rubbing his nose with his thumb, "Sirius doesn't know what he's talking about. It'll be fine."

* * *

_Moony was wrong_, James thinks, _this is awful._

James had met Lily at the bottom of the girls' staircase, and they had walked to the corridor together and waited for Mr. Stratocast together, followed the small, slightly batty looking man into the nearest classroom, watched him set up a drop cloth, an easel and some chairs, sat down in the aforesaid chairs and had not said a word to each other since.

James watches Mr. Stratocast enchant his paintbrush so that the end product would be a moving portrait, and the wispy white strands of hair that stuck straight out from the sides of Mr. Stratocast's head bobbing around the edges of the canvas. He glances quickly at Lily, who looks as uncomfortable as he feels. James shifts on his hard chair.

"Now, now, young man," squeaks Mr Stratocast, "stay still, if you please."

James sighs.

Mr Stratocast reminds James forcefully of his own grandfather, and with the next question James is pulled back to many painful family dinners with nosy and disapproving relatives.

"Now, Mr. Potter, " asks the old man, pushing his round spectacles further up his short nose and squinting at him before going back to his painting, "Do you have a lady friend?"

James is extremely uncomfortable, and knows he must be flushing red.

"Well?" Mr. Stratocast leans around the easel with a kind, if patronizing, smile on his lips.

"No, sir," James replies quietly. Mr Stratocast smiles more widely, and shifts his gaze to Lily, who looks a little alarmed.

"And you, my dear? Any beaux?"

"No, sir," she replies, and with a positively frightening grin, Mr. Stratocast looks back at his painting_._

James frowns, and is gently chastised, "Now, Mr. Potter, you don't want to look angry in your portrait, do you?"

This is the most bizarre thing that has happened to James in a while.

"This is the most bizarre thing that's happened to me in a while," he mutters to Lily out of the side of his mouth, and she stifles a laugh. James grins, and loosens his tie almost imperceptibly. He runs a quick hand through his hair, but it is not quick enough and Mr. Stratocast leans around the portrait once again, frowning disapprovingly.

"Be careful, my boy, or you will end up with a painting that does not reflect the respectable traits that I'm sure your Headmaster saw when he chose you as Head Boy, which, I'm sure, are quite numerous."

The tone of his voice says that he isn't sure he quite agrees with Professor Dumbledore's decision, and James catches Lily's eye and they both look quickly away to keep from laughing.

The evening is long and passes in much the same manner until Mr. Stratocast steps back from his painting and says, "Now, there seems to be something missing here." He contemplates the portrait and frowns. He tilts his head to one side and observes James and Lily, who are feeling quite uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

"Ah, I know," the old man says, and bustles up to the two of them, and continues, "move your chairs a bit closer, just a tad--"

James is extremely surprised, but does so, and his chair legs scrape across the stone floor and the side of it crashes against the side of Lily's.

"Perfect, perfect, much more comradely and like you are proud of being Head students (which I'm sure you do) now hold still, I'll shortly be done," Mr. Stratocast says, and hurries back over to his painting and sets about finishing it with a sort of frenzy that was not present before.

James feels very warm. He is pressed up against the length of Lily's leg, and lovely as it is, he tries to shift a little farther away. Mr. Stratocast doesn't even say anything, just looks at him disapprovingly, and James settles back against his chair. Now his arm is also pressed against Lily's, but she is not moving and so he does not find any other reason to complain. He looks at her quickly, and though she is slightly pinker than normal and he is sure he looks like a lobster and sweating like a pig, they both smile, slightly embarrassedly, and she winks at him. James looks quickly away, and wonders how, exactly, he could get out of telling this part of the evening to Sirius.

Eventually, after many agonizing minutes and when the shadows cast in the candlelight are very long, Mr. Stratocast steps back, frowns, and says, "Well, that turned out most disappointingly, I'm afraid. The adjustment was a great mistake. However," he mutters, looking at James darkly, "there is not much to be done and I am booked through until next year. This will have to do." He mutters to himself for a bit longer, and gathers up his things, and motions to James and Lily to come have a look at the portrait. James braces himself for the worst, hoping not to look like an idiot or some uptight prick, crossing his fingers that he looks handsome and intelligent and somewhat happy, and is not quite prepared for what he sees in the painting.

"I'm afraid the paintings take on their own personalities when finished," says Mr. Stratocast disapprovingly, and he bids them farewell and leaves James and Lily looking at the painting in shock together.

Painting-James is laughing, with an arm around Painting-Lily, who is also laughing and trying to push him away (but, Real-James notices with a bit of a thrill, she is not trying _too_ hard). Painting-Lily's eyes are scrunched up in that delectable way that they do when she's particularly happy, and her cheeks are flushed pinker than usual. Painting-James has his tie loosened and sleeves pushed up over his elbows, hair sticking up madly in all directions, and goes to place an affectionate kiss on Painting-Lily's temple, who looks as lovely as usual, and turns to meet him.

James finds that watching himself kissing Lily Evans on the mouth is extremely peculiar, and looks away, enormously embarrassed. Beside him, Lily is also shocked and says, "Well, no wonder he didn't like this one. Imagine what it'll look like up next to that portrait of Priscilla What's-Her-Name and that Hubert boy..."

James looks at her. She is watching the painting still, the subjects of which have broken apart and are waving happily at their real selves outside of the painting, obviously blushing, but looking amused.

"I suppose we should take this to Professor Dumbledore," Lily says, and grabbing the portrait from the top, leads the way out of the room. James trails after her, still in a bit of a daze, but glad that the rest of the castle is dark enough to hide how warm his face has gotten. He's not quite sure how long it takes to get to the Headmaster's office, but they do and he wonders what exactly this painting means and what exactly Dumbledore will say.

Professor Dumbledore looks up from his book as they enter and smiles. "Ah, Mr. Stratocast is already finished with what I'm sure will be another wonderful portrait, I see."

Clearing his throat, James says, "Er, well, Professor, there's-- there's something wrong with the painting, I think."

Dumbledore raises his eyebrows questioningly, and Lily shows him the painting. He observes it quietly, and then looks up at his two very confused students and says, "No, Mr. Potter, I don't see anything wrong with this painting."

James is utterly astounded.

The Headmaster smiles and continues, "Now, it's late and you two have classes to attend tomorrow. Go on to bed. And," he adds, with a peculiar twinkling in his eyes, "This painting will be hung as soon as Mr. Filch has the chance."

James turns, and holds the door for an equally flabbergasted Lily. He looks back at Dumbledore, and could swear he see the Headmaster wink at him before he says, "Goodnight, James."

"Goodnight, sir," James replies quietly, and closes the door softly behind him. Lily is waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, and he looks at her bewilderedly. "What do you think _that_ was--" he starts, but she's launched herself at him and is kissing him rather passionately. He almost faints from shock, decides that that wouldn't be very manly, and starts to kiss her back.

It's very lucky, he reflects later, that he was pressed up against that irritating gargoyle for so long that it started to complain, and they stopped kissing for long enough that they could hear Mr. Filch creeping along the corridor, probably hoping to catch any unsuspecting students out of bed. James had time to pull them both through a tapestry and into an adjoining corridor and behind a suit of armour, where the caretaker could not find them (though there was a bit of a close call when James knocked his elbow into the suit of armour and it clattered to the floor, and they had to make a run for it).

All in all, James thinks as he kisses Lily goodnight again at the bottom of the girls' staircase, it was a very, _very_ good day.


End file.
